More Bitching and Moaning

I recently learned old folks can grow into allergies the way kids often grow out of them. Evidently, I have grown into some, and they are causing liquid to collect in my ears. Most vertigo is caused by this condition, water in the inner ear. Well, not water, exactly, more like mucous, snot if you will. An allergy triggers the body's defense mechanisms, histamines are formed, and liquids created to quarantine and wash away the imaginary invader. 

I became aware of the problem, when I went ass over teakettle in the wee hours of the morning. It was my usual early morning piss-call, when I open the intake on the stove a bit to warm the house before I get up approximately two hours later. My feet stopped in front of the stove, but my head didn't.  My gyro was kaput. My head wanted to continue in whatever direction it was moving. A darting look to the side made my head go round Exorcist style and produced a desire to puke. Looking up might send me over backwards. 

Many times, I have told you I'm old and slow. Well, now I'm even slower. I walk carefully, and do not turn my head hurriedly. Plus, the allergy medicine I'm taking makes me sleepy, and my best laid plans often turn to shit, when I wake up and realize it is time to go to bed. 

Many events on my calendar have been skipped. I have photos to work, but the computer puts me to sleep. So that is my whine at the current time. This, too, shall pass, and when it does, I will be trying to make up for lost time. I went to the Earth Day events in Caras Park today, and came away with some new shots of old favorites, Andrea Harsell and Tom and the Tomatoes, and also some shots of Green Star, a band I haven't captured before. 

Next weekend is full of stuff. Friday, April 24, will see my friends, the Full Moon Prophets, at the Union Club, while the Palace will be throwing a shindig called Carnivali. On Saturday, April 25, Zeppo will play the Top Hat. Also on Saturday night, Demonlily says she is going to have a "psycho-billy" show, which includes fire-eating, under the lights at the Other Side. You can bet the Kitchenpoet wants to visit all of these events. Can he? Will he? Hell if I know.